


Drunk

by HotaruGFC (JaclynGFC)



Series: Clover Academy [2]
Category: Black Clover - Tabata Yuki (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Drunken Kissing, Evil Author Day 2020, F/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:06:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22746751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaclynGFC/pseuds/HotaruGFC
Summary: A little piece I started but may not finish. Yami and Charlotte are coworkers at Clover Academy who happen to live in the same apartment building. When Charlotte can't go home, she stumbles into his after-work world.
Relationships: Charlotte Roselei/Yami Sukehiro
Series: Clover Academy [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2021504
Comments: 23
Kudos: 104





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All of the ideas for this story are still bouncing around in my head, but I'm not sure if I'll ever get back to it. You are forewarned. As a modern AU, I've taken some liberties with some of the familial relationships.

Charlotte returned to her small, studio apartment after a long day of work followed by a long evening of tutoring. She never complained about the extra work; the tutoring jobs were what allowed her to live in as nice of a neighborhood as she did, even if she had to share the apartment with her younger brother while he attended the nearby college. At least it was only during the summer months. 

Still, after long days like today, all she wanted was to get home and take a nice hot bath, drink a small glass of wine (her brother would finish the bottle later), read a trashy novel, and pass out. 

She fiddled in her bag for her keys as she walked up to the apartment door, but when she put them into the lock and turned, the door opened only partway. Charlotte tried again, but could only get the door to open a couple of inches. After trying a couple more times, Charlotte looked up and noticed the security chain was locked in place.

"Son of a..." She tried to push the door open once more before pulling it shut behind her. She leaned in closer, pressing her ear against the door, listening for sounds. She scowled when she heard. "I told him she wasn't allowed in the apartment." Charlotte kicked the door in anger before storming back down the hallway. 

She took the elevator back down to street level, lamenting her younger brother's flagrant disrespect for her space, her time, her routine. She stepped out of the building and onto the street, not quite knowing what to do with herself. The kink in her plans had set her off in a way she had not expected, though, between the stress and exhaustion of the day, she shouldn't have been surprised. 

Charlotte looked up and down the street, trying to decide what to do when a glowing red and orange sign caught her eye. She had walked by the small storefront numerous times – every day sometimes several times a day, since she moved into the downtown apartment, but she had never had the urge to enter the business. But tonight, it seemed to call to her. 

She knew it was a bar; she always had. From the seamy people she saw enter and the distinctive smells which accosted her as she passed, she could not be deluded into thinking the establishment was anything but a place for people to drown their sorrows. 

Charlotte stopped in front of the lazily flashing, half-lit sign. 

"This place is a dive." The entrance brought to mind the description of several seedy bars and pubs from the books she had read over the course of her life. While she had never had a reason to use the word to describe an actual, real-world location, Charlotte could think of no better identifier. Everything about the facade screamed at her, seeming to beckon and warn simultaneously. 

She pushed open the door.

The small entranceway was dark and smoky. A tinny sound which could have been music played from a weak set of speakers set up in a dark corner, and the soft murmur of conversations kept private rustled the hazy air. 

Charlotte could not have felt more out of place than if she had suddenly been transported into the halls of government in some foreign country. 

No, she thought, I might feel more comfortable there. 

The bar was a place out of fantasy and film – a dark seedy underbelly she had heard about in stories, but had never imagined existing right under her nose. She squared her shoulders and closed the distance and took a seat on a stool. She could feel the eyes of the room's hidden occupants on her. The murmuring has stopped as the regulars observed her, this foreign creature in their habitat. She would be lying if she said the feel of the stares did not make her nervous, but she refused to relent, to back down. She always refused. She met the bartender's questioning eyes firmly, with a look she hoped was confident enough to assert her right to be there. 

"What can I get you?" The bartender – a dark-haired woman a few years younger than she was, looked over her, assessing the newcomer. Charlotte stopped and blinked for a moment, realizing she had no idea what she wanted. 

"I, um." Charlotte knit her brows together as she looked at the plethora of bottles behind the girl, who upon closer inspection, looked more like her students than a full-fledged adult, a college student perhaps? "Can I get a glass of white wine?"

The girl scoffed and rolled her eyes before she turned to the bottles behind the bar. In only a moment, Charlotte had the glass in her hand and sipped on the golden fluid within, carefully, slowly. She knew better than to rush. Rushing a drink always spelled trouble for her. As she sipped on the wine in the tiniest of sips, she felt the warming sensation of the alcohol spread quickly through her body and mind – too quickly. She wished she had been able to relax with the glass at home in her apartment as she had planned and not out in the open as she was. The alcohol hit her far more quickly than she expected and she could feel her muscles relax and her mind go numb. A fleeting pang of hunger bounced through her mind as she realized she had not eaten since lunch. She tried to call over the bartender to see if the place served food, but the girl had resumed her conversation with someone down at the other end of the bar. 

Charlotte took another sip of wine, a deeper longer drink, as she threw any regret she might have had to the wind. 

"Too late now." She muttered as she brought the glass to her lips once more.

The feel of a hand on her back startled her. the unfamiliarity of it made Charlotte spin around to confront the perpetrator. Only as she swiveled in the bar stool, she listed to one side and started to slip. The hand which had been at her shoulder now gripped her waist and held her upright.

"That could have been ugly." The voice attached to the hand said as she stared into the chest, which was attached to the arm of which the hand was a part. The familiarity of the voice concerned her. 

Please don't let it be him, she thought as her eyes made the slow trip up the chest to the face of the one who saved her from embarrassment.

"Shit," she muttered as she met his eyes. She could tell he was greatly amused by the situation. He had developed a permanent smirk on his face since he had moved in, or rather since he had discovered she also lived in the same building a few months ago. They had run into each other in the laundry room, and since then, Charlotte had done her best to avoid him as much as she could. Things were bad enough they worked together; she could barely tolerate him there. With him now living in her building, well, things had gotten significantly dicier.

"Aw, Charlotte, tell me how you really feel." He steadied her until she was standing on her own two feet. Satisfied with his handiwork, he let her go, only to have her start listing once more. He caught her again.

She wanted to tell him how she felt. She wanted to say how boorish and crude she thought he was, how infuriating and irresponsible he could be. She wanted to tell him how hot she thought he was and to have him kiss her, to pin her against the bar top and...

No. She willed herself from those thoughts, thoughts she should never have about him, thoughts she could not avoid. Her entire mental acumen could only keep the thoughts at bay, but could not eliminate them, even on the best day. 

And this day was far from an ideal day. 

She pushed him away a bit and used the stool as a means to keep from falling over. She thought she could feel the color rising in her cheeks. She would claim an innocent occurrence should anyone ask, but she wanted to scream what she felt for him from the rooftops. But her head swam with ideas connecting two disparate points.

What did she feel for him? She was trying to sort it all out when he steadied her once again. She looked up into his eyes – dark and smokey in the dim light of the bar and knew one thing she felt for him was an attraction. 

She kissed him. He tensed beneath her touch before relaxing and returning the kiss. Charlotte let herself fall into him, wishing and praying for his arms to wrap around her. And they did, for a moment, before he pulled back, chuckling. He kept one hand on her waist, holding her up, as the other rubbed the back of his head. Charlotte felt her face grow red again. She had never meant to kiss him, and now he laughed nervously. 

"So, um, alrighty then." He stammered, incoherent. Charlotte could only watch his lips move. She wanted to taste them once more. She didn't even care that he smoked and tasted like ash. "So, you're drunk." 

"I am not." Charlotte tried to sound offended by the insinuation, but the sympathetic smile he gave her showed her assertion had not been as forceful or confident as she imagined. 

"Let me walk you home."

"Can't."

He raised his eyebrows in askance.

"What?"

"I can't go home. My idiot brother locked me out." She hadn't told many people about her living arrangements, or about her brother in general. He was a bit of a black sheep in the family and was technically her half-brother from a dalliance her father had when she was young. His mistress had died when the boy was a baby and her own mother suggested adopting the bastard as she could no longer bear children. But, despite everything, despite being given such a privileged upbringing regardless of his birth, Charlotte never thought he lived up to his potential. He spent far too much time playing around, carousing and chasing young girls for her taste.

Charlotte climbed back on the stool and took another sip of wine. She closed her eyes as the warm liquid burned its way down her throat and settled heavily in her gut. The world seemed to spin just a bit or sway as if she were on a boat rocked by ocean waves. She took another sip and drew circles on the bar top, tracing the cloudy ring worn into the wooden surface from years of condensation gathering on the polyurethane there.

Yami watched her for a moment, hoping for some further interaction that never came. As she leaned heavily on the wooden surface, he noticed she seemed to grow more steady. He took a deep breath, no longer worried she would fall to the floor. A voice called out to him from the corner he had been seated when she had come into the bar. He watched her a moment more before turning back to his friends and the game of cards they had going.

Taking his seat, he once again had a clear view of her at the bar. Or at least, he had a clear view of her back, given how she sat in the stool. He tried to focus his attention on the game, but his eyes kept drifting to her. He shifted in his seat as one of the other regular patrons slid up to the bar and tried to chat her up. He watched the exchange with a deep-set frown on his face. She didn't need his help, he reminded himself. She was perfectly capable on her own. He had seen her rebuff many of the other teachers at school, withering them with a glance. The occurrence was regular enough to discourage him from even attempting to catch her attention. He knew she could handle herself.

But then, she had also been sober all the other times. And now she was most decidedly not. 

"Yami, come on." An irritated voice accompanied a rapping on the tabletop. "It's your deal." 

He looked at the deck of cards before him. Picking them up to shuffle, he glanced back her way. The other man had placed his hand on her knee and Yami felt the hair on his arms and the back of his neck rise. Charlotte had not yet warned him away, at least not from what Yami had been able to see, but at the touch, he could see her spine straighten a bit. She pulled herself toward the back of her chair, leaning into the open space and away from the advances of the other man. 

"Sorry guys." Yami placed the cards back on the table and grabbed the handful of cash which sat piled up before his seat and practically sprinted the short distance across the room to the bar. Charlotte's voice issued a slurred argument to the other man as Yami approached. 

"A pretty thing like you shouldn't be in a place like this." The suitor leaned toward her, his hand creeping up her thigh, his eyes barely rising above her chest. Charlotte leaned back and swatted at the hand exploring her skin, but he only kept moving forward. Just as she felt she would tip backward off the stool, her head hit something solid which had not been there before. The man looked up for once, bypassing her eyes to look in fear at something above her. The man swallowed hard and pulled his hand from her thigh.

"The lady isn't interested." Yami's deep voice rumbled flatly in his chest. Charlotte turned toward him, her eyes blazing and cheeks red--though he couldn't tell if the color was from the wine or embarrassment. "And I'm sure she let you know that herself, but you're too misogynistic to care, ain'tcha."

"I, um. I didn't know you had a boyfriend."

"He's not my boyfriend," Charlotte argued as she tried to straighten herself so she was neutrally between the two men, desperate to assert her independence. The other man scurried away from Yami's intimidating presence, but Charlotte turned around to confront him. 

"I don't need you to rescue me."

"Of course not, but you don't know that guy. He's not exactly what one would call nice."

"And you are?" She drained the last sip from her cup. The bartender moved to fill it once more, but a glance from Yami stopped the woman coldly.

"I've never claimed that. I just don't like to see colleagues get hurt is all."

"I can take care of myself."

"No one said you couldn't, Charlotte." 

They sat in silence for a long moment, Yami having perched himself on the stool next to her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What is Yami supposed to do with a Drunken Charlotte?

The silence dragged on between them as Charlotte continued to sip her wine. Every time she lowered the glass and closed her eyes, she felt the world spinning around her. Her awareness prickled with every swaying motion as she moved closer to him and then back. The movement twisted her stomach within her. As the churning feeling within grew, she stretched her arm across the wooden bar top and laid her head against the worn surface. She looked up through slotted eyes as a motion next to her caught her attention.   
Yami had brought a thick glass of dark beer to his lips and then placed it back on the table. 

Her eyes lingered on him, watching as he licked the residue of the drink from his lips. She saw his eyes dart toward her and then back to his glass before he went through the motion again. Her vision turned black as he lowered the glass.

***

Charlotte's lazy, drunken gaze had made Yami's skin prickle. Something wanton in her demeanor unsettled him, but he forced his thoughts down as he brought the glass to his lips once more. The dark brown liquid lingered on his lips as hers had earlier. He wondered what the kiss had been all about. He had never seen her drink before tonight, not even at staff parties. Seeing her drunk like this was simply unheard of. 

"Aw hell," he muttered as he brought the glass to his lips once more. A presence on his other side drew his attention.

"Man, she is out cold, isn't she?" Jack laughed loudly as he took the seat next to Yami. He placed his hand on Yami's thick shoulder and leaned in front of him to get a closer look. 

"A right Sleeping Beauty there," he said as he straightened and waved for the bartender's attention.

"I thought you would still be trying to fleece those two out of their paychecks."

Jack cackled as the bartender placed another drink in front of him.

"You know it's no fun playing without you, Meathead." He laughed and took a drink before looking at Charlotte once again. "Wait till the department hears about this one."

Yami's eyes widened as he looked at his lanky friend and then back to Charlotte. He rubbed his hand over his eyes.

"Right. I forgot she teaches math too." Yami mumbled as Jack's maniacal laughter filled the small, smokey bar.

"Should we call her a cab?" Jack floated the suggestion.

"Nah. I'll bring her home." Yami polished off the last of his beer. He looked over at Jack as he slid the glass across the bar. A questioning look greeted him, but then, Yami knew his friend well enough to read the question he left unspoken. 

"She lives in my building," Yami explained. "Not sure the number though, but I can figure it out."

"And when was I going to find out about this?"

Yami shrugged. The information had not seemed so important, at least not to him. The city was big, with lots of people living in apartment buildings like the one they shared. The matter was coincidental and inconsequential. 

"I didn't think it was important." Yami lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply before letting out a long slow plumed exhale. Jack clucked like a mother hen, the sound of which made Yami raise an eyebrow.

"It's just, I don't know, a little weird. I never imagined she would the same sort of taste as you. No offense or anything, but she seems a bit more prim and proper, a little more high end."

"It's not like I live in a dump or anything, you know."

"How would I know? We always hang out here."

A soft snore came from Charlotte and a glare came from the bartender. Yami stuck his cigarette between his lips and stood up.

"Guess that's my cue to go." He stood and lifted Charlotte's arm. He had hoped the movement would wake her enough so she would be able to walk on her own, but while her eyes fluttered open briefly, they closed again. Her arm was limp and heavy and her body seemed leaden on the seat. Yami wrapped her arm around his shoulder and gripped her waist with his other hand as he hoisted her to her feet. The weight of her wanted to drag him to the floor.

"Grab her bag, will ya?" Yami said to Jack as he supported her weight.

"You gonna be alright?" Jack held out the black briefcase, which Yami took in the hand which had held Charlotte's to his shoulder. He tightened his grip on her waist, pulling her closer against his side, hoping her hand would not fall from where he had left it perched now that he had freed it. 

"Hey!" The young bartender called to them from where she had been talking with her friends. "She didn't pay." The young woman pointed at Charlotte's passed out form in accusation. Yami looked at Jack.

"You won, right? Care to buy your colleague a drink?" Yami smirked.

"Not as much as I should have since you had to go play knight in shining armor." Jack scowled as he pulled out a few bills and placed them on the bar top. 

"Thanks, String Bean. I owe you one." Yami called back to him as he hobbled to the door with a passed out Charlotte.

The building they shared was only a short distance from the bar. Had he been alone, Yami would have cut across the street with a blatant disregard for any traffic which might be flowing at the time. Charlotte's weight against him made him move slower, far too slow to dodge oncoming cars. 

He turned and walked down the sidewalk toward the traffic light and the crosswalk. Charlotte's feet dragged beside him, occasionally taking a step or two, but Yami could not tell if her steps were reflexive or if she was struggling to wake up out of her stupor. As he stood at the signal waiting for permission to cross, he wondered if he should pick her up and carry her the rest of the way. He was certain he would make better time holding her instead of dragging her, but he decided against it. Charlotte would probably tear him to pieces if he did anything she might deem inappropriate, and carrying her without her permission seemed to be something she would not forgive easily. 

And so, a trip across the street which would normally take him about two minutes, took Yami ten minutes as he supported Charlotte through the crosswalk and up the other side of the sidewalk to the apartment building in which they both lived. A little investigation in the directory led Yami to an apartment one floor above and a little down the hall from his own. Charlotte leaned on him as he set down her briefcase and knocked on the door. He stood at the door waiting for a long moment as Charlotte giggled from his shoulder. Muffled sounds came from within the apartment, but no one answered his loud knock. 

"Son of a..." Yami muttered as Charlotte slipped from his grip and slid to the floor. She giggled again and looked up at him. Though technically awake, her eyes were so dilated that they looked black and her head lolled from one side to the other in a sort of rocking motion. Yami knocked on the door again, more loudly this time, before looking at the drunk woman at his feet. After another long moment of no one answering, Yami grunted in frustration. He looked at Charlotte once again, only to see she had sprawled on the floor and passed out once more. 

He could leave her. The building security was excellent; he knew she would be safe if he left. He knocked one last time and took a few steps away from her, telling himself she would be fine. He had nearly made it to the elevator before he looked back at her. Charlotte still lay sprawled on the hallway floor, and the door next to her remained shut.   
Yami sighed and walked back to the unconscious woman. He nudged her with his foot, trying to wake her. When she didn't budge, he crouched next to her. 

"I'm really sorry about this, Charlotte." He whispered to her as he lifted her in his arms like a bride on her wedding day. Somehow she did not feel as heavy in his arms as she had earlier. Before standing, he gripped the handle of her briefcase with one finger and lifted it with her. 

The trip down one floor was excruciatingly slow. While she felt lighter in his arms, he could not help the feeling of being watched as he carried her unconscious form onto the elevator and to his own apartment. She leaned against him like a large sack of rice as he fished his own key from his pocket and unlocked the door. 

The room into which he carried her was not what one would call tidy but it was clean--at least by the standards of a bachelor. The small apartment was a single room organized into separate sections. A small bathroom was visible behind a door that stood slightly ajar and a kitchen was blocked off from the rest of the space by a short bar. On one side of the main space sat a low table and some cushions with a television on a squat stand dividing it from a sleeping area near the door. The table and the bar were covered with papers of various sorts as well as the occasional book, and a pile of clean clothes had taken up residence on a chair in the corner, but nowhere could one see a stray dirty sock or used dish. A narrow table along one wall, however, was pristine. The black lacquered table shown in the dim light coming from the kitchen. Upon it, a single katana sat in its sheath on a stand, also glistening black like a void.

He dropped her briefcase by the door and laid her on a low narrow unmade bed which butted up against one wall. Crouching beside her, he slipped her blue pumps from her feet and placed them neatly next to her briefcase before removing his own shoes and placing them near the door. 

"Hopefully you'll sober up soon, but you can sleep here until you do." He looked at her sleeping face. He had expected it to be peaceful and serene. Weren't all beautiful women supposed to sleep that way? Instead, her face was screwed up, twisted as if in pain or frustration. He sat her up for a moment and struggled to pull her jacket off of her limp arms. The task was difficult as her weight pinned one of his arms making him essentially one-handed in the moment. Despite the struggle, Yami emerged victorious as he pulled the tailored piece from her arms. She flopped backward again once he released her. She shifted and tossed as if she could not get comfortable for a moment before settling down. A soft snore escaped her. 

Yami rubbed his hand over his eyes as he watched her for a moment more. She appeared more peaceful, as he had imagined, despite the quiet snoring emanating from her. 

"I need a cigarette," he muttered to himself as he took the few steps to the window across the room. The window opened easily and he crawled out the opening onto the metal fire escape. Leaning on the metal railing, he lit his cigarette. As he inhaled, a memory sprang up in his mind. 

***

He had been late for the staff meeting, but Julius hadn't seemed to mind. Everyone else, however, stared daggers at him as he wormed his way through the crowd to find a seat. Julius watched him patiently, but in silence, as he waited for the disruption to end. The rest of the staff grumbled their displeasure. 

Great way to start your first day, Yami, he thought as he finally located a place to sit. 

Not that you care what others think, right?

The empty chair he had spotted was in the middle of the room, next to a woman with a severe bun and taut features who seemed lost in whatever she was doing on the notepad on her lap. She glanced up at him, a scowl-like frown on her face before she shifted positions and moved as far away from him as she could – which wasn't much given the tightly packed room. 

Despite the down-turned lips and narrowed eyes, he could see she was a beauty. He wondered how much more beautiful she would be if she smiled, but her rigid posture and her unwelcoming aura clearly indicated she would not welcome the suggestion. 

Maybe one day, he thought before turning his fragmented attention to the meeting. 

A couple of weeks passed before he saw her again. He had found out she taught calculus and other high-level math from his friend Jack, who was also in the math department, but all other information he had picked up about her had told him to stay away, that she was too good for him. So he filed the fleeting thought away into the recesses of his mind until he bumped into her on a Sunday in the most unexpected of places. He had never imagined he would run into her in the laundry room of his apartment building.

As was his habit, he had saved up all of his clothes for a single day of washing. He had gotten up late, enjoying the day off, and felt he was still a little drunk from his escapades the night before. He did not notice the wet laundry still in the washer when he opened it and started dumping his dirty clothes into it. 

"What are you doing?" A sharp voice behind him cut through his half-drowsy, half-hungover state.

"Huh?" He turned toward the sound and squinted at the figure standing in the door.

"You are putting your dirty clothes into my washer." The voice, thought biting and exasperated, was rich and deep, sonorous even. Yami figured it would be a comforting voice had it not been full of ire at the moment.

He looked into the tub and saw his dry clothes stacked on top of wet garments plastered against the side of the barrel.

"Oh. The room was empty and it wasn't running, so..."

"I had just gotten a notification that the cycle had finished and was on my way to swap it to the dryer." The woman pushed her way to the washer and he saw her clearly--the down-turned lips and the tight bun in her hair were tell-tale giveaways. The woman he had sat next to at school on his first day, the one who had glared at him with disgust, the brilliant and beautiful Charlotte Roselei lived in his apartment building.

Yami reached into the basin to withdraw his dirty garments just as she also reached for her personal effects. Their heads bumped together and they both pulled back, rubbing at the offending spot. She looked at him fully, with no sense of the glare she had given him the first time he had invaded her space, only open, confident, demanding blue eyes.

"Get your stuff out of my washer." She said tersely.

***

Yami shook the memory away as he tossed the butt of his cigarette down to the street. He shouldn't have littered, he knew he shouldn't. He even kept an ashtray near the window for moments like this, but her behavior, her presence had shaken him. Yami sighed, realizing he was going to have hell to pay in the morning.

"Nothing to be done about it now." He murmured before closing the window behind him. He walked as silently as he could through the small apartment to the bathroom. The long week weighed on him, as did the shortened night out. He wanted nothing more than to take a shit and collapse into bed. But he knew he wouldn't sleep. He hardly ever slept, and when he did, it was never enough. He could not remember the last time he slept more than a couple of hours at a time.

Yami stood and flushed the toilet. As the water rushed out of the bowl, he wished he could do the same with his consciousness. He looked over at Charlotte, passed out in his bed, wishing he could enter oblivion as easily. He padded his way across the room and turned on the television before he sat on one of the cushions on the floor. Picking up a black control device, he turned on a game machine. He hoped killing some zombies would help him at least disconnect for a while.

Yami did not know how long he had been playing when he heard a groan from his bed. The sound, unusual in the space, pulled him from the game. The movement of Charlotte in the bed, however, kept his attention. 

She sat up suddenly, her face twisted into a frustrated grimace. She seemed to fuss with something behind her back. Her lips moved slightly as if she were speaking, but the sound of his character dying in the game blocked out her words. Her hands flew to the front of her blouse where they worked to loosen the buttons keeping the top closed.   
Satisfied with the amount of freedom she gained, Charlotte tugged the shirt over her head and off of her arms. She tossed the garment onto the floor. A white bra dangled from her shoulders. She discarded it as well.

Yami watched her tussle with her clothing and their subsequent disposal. He could just make out her pale skin in the dim blue light of the television before she collapsed back onto the bed and pulled the thin blanket back up underneath her chin. He could only pull his attention away once she had turned her back to him. He took a deep breath and focused once more on his game.

"She's going to kill me." He muttered as he shut the machine off and opted for a movie instead. Yami found nothing which suited his interests after searched around a few channels. He turned the television off and laid down on the thick cushion spread across the floor. He covered himself with a blanket and closed his eyes. Sleep would still not come. It never came easily, though now the flashes playing through his mind were not the usual screams and gunshots, but of a sloppy drunken kiss and a glimpse of alabaster skin glowing silvery-blue in a darkened room.


	3. Chapter 3

The first thing she noticed was the smell of food wafting through the air. Then the sizzle of bacon frying and the crack of an egg accompanied by a deep humming entered her brain. Charlotte took a deep breath. She hadn't smelled a freshly made breakfast in ages. It was not a skill she had mastered.

Yet, she told herself, only to follow with a reminder that she tended to burn water. 

And her brother... Well, Finral was not known for his skills in the kitchen either. Or for any other skills for that matter. 

Charlotte frowned as she remembered trying to open her apartment door, only to have it barred from the inside. She struggled to remember what happened afterward. 

As she attempted to piece the night together, Charlotte's stomach growled. The scent of breakfast made her mouth water and her stomach twist and turn, though she could not tell if the nauseous feeling was from extreme hunger or something else. She sat up quickly and her head seemed to move at half the speed of her body. Her vision swirled a bit. She placed her hand against her head but the swirling would not stop. 

She tried to focus on a point in space, but everything seemed to be in motion around her. She felt bile rise in her throat and she clapped her hand over her mouth as she threw off the blanket and ran to the bathroom. She emptied the contents of her stomach, meager though they were, into the toilet and took a deep breath. Only as the porcelain pressed against her with unexpected cold, did Charlotte look down to see her exposed body, at least from the waist up. 

Her face went red with embarrassment as she rubbed at her head, trying, and failing, to remember the details of what had happened after she left her apartment in exhausted, frustrated anger. 

A knock on the door pulled her back to the present. She looked around the tiny bathroom, noting the minimal number of goods neatly arranged near the sink. The bathroom was smaller than hers, and far more sparsely decorated, though it was impeccably clean. 

"Are you alright?" The deep voice which had been humming earlier asked through the door Charlotte didn't remember closing.

Yami? She thought, sitting more solidly on the floor. What was he doing here? Or a better question, what was she doing here? 

"I... I'm fine." She braced her arms over her exposed bosom, trying to hide her exposed flesh despite the door separating them. 

"You sure? You had quite a few last night."

Quite a few what? Charlotte wondered, feeling panic rising within her. 

"After you passed out at the bar, Jack mentioned you weren't much of a drinker."

A BAR? Charlotte rubbed her hands over her face. What was she doing in a bar? And with Jack and Yami at that?

"I tried to bring you home, but... well, no one answered and the door was locked."

So the whore was still at her apartment with her good-for-nothing brother... And she was... at Yami's? Charlotte's heart was racing and her breath came so quickly she thought she would pass out again. She crawled the short distance to the sink and lifted herself to mirror height. She looked awful – blood-shot eyes, hair all askew, and make-up smeared from having not been removed before sleeping. Not to mention her missing shirt and bra. 

The voice outside the door was silent, and Charlotte thought she had heard footsteps walking away from the bathroom. She turned on the faucet and splashed her face with cold water in hopes of regaining some sense of normalcy. The knock sounded on the door once more.

"I'm just going to put your shirt inside, alright?"

Charlotte nodded, before realizing he could not see her.

"Alright." 

She turned away from the door as it creaked open and her pristine white blouse and bra fell into a neat pile on the floor just inside. 

"I made some breakfast. You should really eat something after everything you had to drink last night." He said before he pulled the door shut. 

Charlotte picked up her clothes and sniffed them. They had the faint odor of cigarettes, but not as strong as she expected. She watched the door as she put them on. Had anything else happened last night? She felt her face flush red, surprised by the thought. She had no reason to believe Yami would do anything to her against her will, but then she also did not know him well enough to be sure of his intentions. Furthermore, the thought made her heart race in a way that surprised her. Not so much the idea that he might have violated her – that was repulsive and made her stomach turn. He said she had passed out but had she pushed the issue before then? Had she asked in a drunken stupor for him to...? She turned the water faucet on again and rubbed her face with cool water before feeling the urge to use the bathroom. 

It had been a long time, she realized since she'd allowed herself the pleasures of the flesh. And if she were to allow herself a one night stand, she could certainly do worse than Yami Sukehiro – at least in that department. The man looked like he knew his way around a woman. But she had never been so daring before as to have sex with someone and then leave. She had never even had sex with anyone outside of a committed relationship – though that was a long time past. 

Maybe, she thought, if they didn't work together. Maybe if they didn't live in the same building. 

And as she pulled down her stockings and underwear to use the toilet, Charlotte sighed, relieved he had not taken advantage of her without her consent, that he was – despite his looks – a gentleman to some extent. She finished up in the bathroom, unsatisfied with her appearance, but confident that nothing untoward had happened last night. She sighed as she opened the door, steadying herself to face him.

He was busy at work in the kitchen, seemingly ignorant of her appearance as he waved his hands over the stove like some sort of magician. As she watched, she found herself marveled at the domesticity of his behavior and how strikingly it contrasted with what she had assumed of him. She looked around at the apartment – really taking it in for the first time. Its tidiness impressed her, though it was not nearly as organized as her own.

"Have a seat," he said without turning around as if he had sensed her presence. Charlotte pulled out a tall stool and took a spot at the high counter separating the small kitchen from the rest of the room. He turned around and placed a glass of thick something in front of her. The smell coming from it was atrocious and made her nose wrinkle.

"It will help with the hangover." He turned back to the stove and finished up with the cooking. 

Charlotte picked up the glass and sniffed it. The smell had not gotten any better. 

"What is it?"

"You probably don't want to know." Yami turned around with two plates. He slid one over to her before rummaging around in a drawer for a pair of forks. "But, it won't kill you, I promise."

Charlotte looked at him with skepticism. 

Yami sighed and took the glass from her hand. He took a sip of the pungent liquid before placing the glass before her once more. Charlotte's eyes widened. Did he expect her to drink after him? Wasn't that a sort of indirect kiss? They weren't that familiar, she told herself, only to blush as the vague memory of kissing him last night surfaced.

"See." He dug his fork into his eggs and shoveled some into his mouth. "It tastes terrible, but it definitely does the trick."

"Talking from experience?"

Yami made a weird sort of salute with his fork before taking another bite of food.

"Bottoms up." He pointed at the glass. 

Charlotte's nose wrinkled once again as she lifted the glass. She took a deep breath and she chugged the concoction. As she swallowed the last of the mixture, she gagged, but unlike before, nothing resulted from it. 

"What was in there?" She asked again, unable to keep a look of revulsion from her face. 

"Just an old hangover remedy I picked up overseas. Now eat before it gets cold." 

Charlotte picked up the fork he had placed next to her plate and took a small bite of the meal he had prepared. Though it was fairly simple – some eggs and rice with some fried tofu on the side – the flavor surprised Charlotte. Her hunger surprised her as well, as she devoured the dish. 

Yami placed a tall glass of water before her, replacing the vile concoction he had initially presented her with. Charlotte gulped down the glass. 

"Jack said you don't have much drinking experience."

Charlotte looked up at him from where she was trying to scrape the last bit of food from her plate and into her fork. 'Jack said?' Did he and Jack talk about her frequently, she wondered. No, she realized, Jack had been at the bar the night before. 

"A word of advice, drink lots of water today, more than you think you can. It will help with the dehydration." Yami looked at the empty plate in front of her. "Want some more?"

Charlotte nodded as she chewed silently. Yami smiled at her – well not really a smile, she thought, more of a smirk – before he turned back to the stovetop and refilled her plate. 

"This is really good," Charlotte said, her hand covering her mouth to hide any visible food particles. "Never thought of you as a cook."

Yami chuckled. 

"Yeah, well, there's probably a lot about me that you never thought of." He took another bite of his own breakfast before catching her gaze.

Eyes locked for a moment, Charlotte felt herself panic. She could feel her blood rising and her flight instinct taking over. She stuffed another bite of food in her mouth to quell the response. Everything she could determine pointed at him acting like a perfect gentleman through the night, and that it was she who had pushed things beyond the boundary of professionalism. She had only imagined the husky timbre to his deep velvety voice, right? 

She reached for the glass of water to wash down her meal.

"Yes, well. Thank you," she said stiffly as she straightened. "For everything. I should... I should get going." She refused to look him in the eye.

"Any time."

Charlotte nodded, stood, and walked toward the door of the small apartment. 

"Don't forget your bag. It's by the door." Yami called from the kitchen area. 

Charlotte could feel his eyes on her the entire way as her movements came stiffly and awkwardly. Picking up her bag, she glanced only once toward him and walked out the door.  
Charlotte released a long-held breath as soon as she closed the door to her apartment behind her. She felt as if she had held the breath the entire way from Yami's apartment. She leaned heavily against the door for a moment, eyes closed and just breathing. The air was stuffy and held an acrid scent. Charlotte's nose wrinkled as she lifted herself from the door and placed her bag on the nearby hook designated for its storage. She yawned as she made her way to the bathroom and turned the shower on as hot as she could stand it. The air from Yami's apartment – thick with the smell of freshly cooked food and an underlying scent of cigarette smoke – clung to her clothes. 

"Guess I'll do some laundry today." Charlotte tossed the items into her laundry hamper. She stood naked in front of the long mirror on the back of the bathroom door and looked over her body. Nothing seemed abnormal, she thought, as she turned and twisted to see as many angles as she could. 

"Nothing except the usual flaws," she muttered, frowning as she saw the imperfections in her skin – the patches of dryness, freckles, and cellulite. Age, she thought, was catching up to her.

"Eventually, you'll just be an old hag that no one wants." She stepped into the shower and let the hot water wash over her, hoping it would burn away her thoughts as it scalded her skin.

***

Yami scanned over a list of unread emails from his department, debating the value of actually opening them and contributing to the discussion. He had taken the job because he needed the money and because Julius had offered it to him. He had no real love of the work, or for the students, he taught. They were both a means to an end. And that end was not being homeless again doing anything he had to do to survive. 

But now, he was tied into a strange sort of hell, where he was expected to prepare and plan things for the future. He hated being tied to plans, and yet here he was. He opened a document and saved a new copy of it before changing a few things like dates and page numbers. Saving the file once more, he uploaded it to the website he was required to have for class. He closed the laptop perched on his knees and put it on the floor before stretching along the length of the couch. He grabbed the remote control and turned on the television. 

As his feet hit the other arm of the couch, the fabric beneath them felt strange, unusual, unfamiliar. Yami sat up and looked across to the offending fabric. He picked it up, only to discover that the fabric was shaped into a jacket or blazer, not unlike the one Charlotte had been wearing the evening before when she had stumbled into the bar.

"Shit." He stood and picked up the garment. Slipping into a pair of slippers, Yami stepped out of his door, pulled it shut tightly behind him. 

***

Charlotte sat at a large glass-topped table which doubled as a desk on the days she spent planning for the next week or unit – which was pretty much every day she did not have tutoring after school or a practice test to proctor. She slurped up a noodle from a cup-o-noodle bowl, holding the Styrofoam cup in one hand as she skimmed over a set of paper instructions for an activity she was trying to decide on for the following week. She switched her focus from one paper to another, muttering softly to herself as she compared the two. 

The knock on the door startled her and she stared at it confused for a moment before the knock sounded once more. Charlotte shook her head, chiding herself for getting so wrapped up in her work she forgot for a moment what a door even was. Though she was not expecting anyone, ever, who would have needed to knock. Finral had his own key when he needed a place to crash. And anyone else would have texted first. She walked to the door and opened it.

Yami stood in the doorway, his hand poised to knock once more.

They stood staring at each other for a moment before he held out his other hand and her blazer in it.

"You left this." 

Charlotte took the garment without looking away from him. She wanted to say something, anything to him, but her mind had gone blank. 

"Thank you." She said as she clutched the jacket to her chest and finally found her voice. She stood in the doorway with the door hanging open behind her, cursing herself for taking the route of comfort after her shower as she stood before him with no makeup, her glasses, a messy bun, and a baggy sweater over a pair of leggings. He seemed to look as he always looked – rugged and relaxed – as she found herself unable to look away from him. She caught sight of him tensing and relaxing his jaw.

"Well, I, um... I'll see you later." He said with a sigh before turning away from her and starting down the hallway.

"Yami?" She padded barefoot into the hallway as he turned to her.

"Can I get you something to drink? or something? For last night, at least?" Charlotte's heart raced.

He smiled. 

"Maybe some other time." 

Charlotte released a breath she had not realized she was holding. 

"Like the next time we run into each other doing laundry." He turned with a wave and continued down the hallway.  



End file.
